The Experiment
by IAmTheGrayArea
Summary: Holmes/Watson Slash! Holmes is between cases and decides to perform a little experiment on Watson. Chapter Two will involve the sex scene. Chapter 1 - rated T, Chapter 2 - rated M.
1. Chapter 1

This takes place before the 2009 film – Holmes is in between cases and needs something to keep his mind stimulated.

It had been two months since his last case and Holmes was beginning to loose sight of reality. He was becoming lost within all the research and the many experiments he had conducted whilst in between jobs, and now looking across his junkyard of a room, he concluded that many of them would never work or that they had become so lost amongst the clutter that they were a lost cause.

He had written a list somewhere at some time in his life. A list of experiments he wished to perform if time abided. He would look for that very list and start the next, untouched idea he had once had a good six months ago. After all, he needed something to keep him busy, otherwise he would end up accidentally shooting that suspicious landlady or throwing his and Watson's dog out the window from a crazed state of boredom.

Holmes sat up momentarily from his laying position on the floor and wondered for a moment where exactly that dog was, but then he was distracted by that list of experiments. Dear Watson must have come into his room and stacked all of the strewn papers into a neat pile on his desk. Naturally Holmes never liked his stuff to be touched, but that never really applied to Watson. None of Holmes' pet peeves ever really applied to Watson.

Getting up, rather stiffly, Holmes made his way to his desk and began reading the list he had written so long ago. Most of the items he had either attempted or finished already, actually it was all but one item. The last item on the list had been left untried and forgotten. It brought a slight smile to the detective's face.

It was one of his more outlandish ideas and Watson would probably be anything but happy once he found out what he was up to, but on the other hand, the idea was stimulating in more than one way to Holmes and he had to deduce way this idea had him so… excited.

It would take him at least a week to acquire the correct items.

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~A Week Later~

Holmes had been surprisingly successful in not letting his friend in on any of the details of his upcoming experiment, especially since it heavily involved the doctor. After all, Watson was the main subject. But then again, Holmes had become quite talented at leaving Watson out of a lot of potent information so maybe it wasn't so surprising after all.

Although it may be immoral, the best results came when the subject was unaware of the experiment at hand.

Holmes had to conduct the trail at the perfect time. He had to prepare the experiment in the kitchen, before Watson got back, otherwise Watson would find it extremely suspicious that Holmes was in the kitchen at all, none the less actually cooking something edible.

Watson would be back in no more than an hour so Holmes knew he had to move quickly otherwise the experiment would just have to wait until another day and that seemed quite disappointing to Holmes. He confirmed the disappointment he felt and logged it into the many folders of his brain. This particular research he was doing at the moment was causing some very odd and unexpected feelings to emerge that he could not simply ignore. After all, the smallest details were the most important.

He cooked to the best of his ability, whilst trying to ignore the blatant stares of disapproval from the landlady. He cooked until just five minutes before Watson was expected home and then ambled up to his room to set everything up.

His timing was perfect. Always perfect.

////////////

Watson arrived home just as always, warmly greeting the landlady and taking off his heavy coat and hanging it on the coat stand in the front hallway.

He wasn't even completely on the second step up to his room before he heard Holmes calling out for him.

"Watson! Watson! Is that you?"

"Yes, Holmes," the doctor answered. His voice held a hint of annoyance, but really the doctor wasn't annoyed at all. He ascended the steps and didn't bother knocking before his entered the detective's room. "What is it, Holmes?"

Watson was a little shocked to find the detective somewhat cleanly dressed and sitting neatly at a table near the window. A table set for two was arranged in front of Holmes and a covered pot was the centerpiece.

Holmes put out his hand, gesturing for the doctor to sit. "Please, sit."

Immediate suspicion registered for the doctor. This was surely one of Holmes' plans to coax Watson into giving him what he wanted. This was cause for some serious concern from Watson, because for some damned reason he couldn't say no to this man! He always gave in to Holmes' crazy schemes and plots, and what was scariest was that he always _wanted_ to give in to them. He liked making this silly genius happy. It in return always made him happy.

Cautiously Watson made his way to the table and sat across from Holmes. "Holmes, what is this about?"

"I made you dinner," Holmes said, lifting the pot's top and looking expectantly at the doctor. "I hope you did not have other plans."

"No," Watson replied slowly. "I didn't."

"Great," Holmes said animatedly, sort of twitching in that way he did sometimes.

Watson took in the detail around him. He had been Holmes' partner long enough to pick up on some of his traits and know the importance of detail. The detective had chosen wine as the drink and had actually lit some candles. Watson's eyes narrowed as he noticed some of the side items on the table. There were strawberries, dark chocolate and oysters.

"Sort of an odd mix," Watson stated, nodding toward the side items.

"Hmm? Really?" Holmes said, seemingly finding no oddity amongst the foods of choice. "Just eat. Relax."

Watson spooned out some of the soup that was in the large pot and poured it into his bowl. He stirred the contents momentarily before glancing up at Holmes. "Having any?"

"Oh, yes. Of course," Holmes replied, mimicking Watson's earlier movements and retrieving some soup for himself.

Watson sighed heavily, shaking his head. "You're acting strange Holmes," he said, sipping the soup.

Holmes watched him intently.

"Hmm, this is actually pretty good," Watson said, swallowing a couple more spoonfuls. "What exactly is in this?"

"Oh…" Holmes waved his hand nonchalantly. "A bunch of different ingredients." He picked up a strawberry and took a small bite. "Mucuna pruriens, Eurycoma longifolia, Socratea exorrhiza…" he trailed off gradually, eating the rest of his strawberry.

"What?" Watson said, not quite putting his spoon down but obviously considering it. "What exactly are those ingredients and how long do I have before they start to take effect?"

"I'm not going to tell you what they are and I'm not really quite sure when they will take effect."

"Look, Holmes!" Watson said, slamming his spoon down. "I'm not Gladstone! You can't just experiment on me." Watson stood, running a hand through his hair. "You've gone too far this time."

"Watson, wait!" Holmes stood, but was met only with the slamming of his own door.

Watson made his way quickly to his room and pulled out a very old, extremely large book. Inside it had every known herb and plant known to man and if he could remember the names correctly he would figure out just what Holmes was up to.

The first name was Mucuna pruriens. Thumbing through the pages Watson finally found the plant and began reading the description aloud. "Is an annual… climbing shrub with long vines… 15 m in length. When the plant is young… completely covered with fuzzy hairs, but when older…" Watson skipped down to the more important information, like the side effects of ingesting it or how poisonous it was to humans. He eyes scanned but it found nothing that sounded dangerous; in fact he found something quite the opposite. He read the word three or four more times before moving on to the next ingredient.

Both Eurycoma longifolia and Socratea exorrhiza had the same exact effect and Watson stood, leaning over his book for a couple moments, just thinking. What in the world was Holmes thinking?

Before he thought better of it, he made his way back to Holmes' bedroom and barged right through the doors. Not surprisingly, Holmes was positioned in the exact same place that Watson had left him.

Startled, Holmes looked up at him, freezing slightly. "I guess you have deduced what the—"

"Deduced what the experiment was?" Watson cut him off. "All those ingredients…" he pointed towards the table. "They're all aphrodisiacs! Holmes, what were you thinking?"

"I was simply putting an unsolved query to the test my good friend."

"Unsolved query," Watson repeated, obviously not finding the logic in Holmes' experiment. "Why me? Why would you make me the subject?"

"Because it is you that I trust the most," Holmes replied, standing again and moving toward Watson. "And I felt that it would be much more appropriate to do to you and not to Gladstone."

"Well think again Holmes," Watson said. "It didn't work anyways. I am in no way aroused right now."

The detective moved towards the door and in a very uncharacteristic fashion slid the bolt and locked the door. "You sure about that?"

The entire action Holmes just performed was stealthy and not entirely of good and pure intentions, and Watson couldn't help but turn his eyes away, feeling an emotion he was not quite expecting. What Holmes just did was… _sexy_.

"Averting the eyes," Holmes said, watching the doctor closely. "A sign of discomfort, embarrassment… you're hiding something."

"No, Holmes…"

The detective moved over, quicker than the doctor expected, and was within a foot of him within a second. "You're sweating slightly, just along your brow," Holmes reached out to touch Watson's forehead but Watson pulled back quickly, ungracefully.

"Sweating, avoiding my gaze, avoiding my touch… my dear friend, it doesn't appear that you're feeling nothing."

"Holmes," Watson began but then he bumped into the wall behind him and he was cornered before he knew it. Holmes stepped towards him, closing what little space was between them. "Holmes," he said quieter this time. "What are you doing?"

"I am performing an experiment and making decisions based off of the data that I find," Holmes answered. "Your pupils are slightly dilated… your breathing has quickened… your…" he placed his index and middle finger against Watson's neck. "Heart rate has significantly increased… and…" he looked down. "Your pants have suddenly become too small."

Watson visibly swallowed, staring intently into the detective's eyes. "And your conclusion?"

"My conclusion is that if I do this…" he leaned forward and placed his lips lightly against Watson's, moving his hand up and guiding his fingers through the hair on the back of Watson's head. "I will get a positive response."

A moment of complete stillness settled inside the room, silence filling the moment. Both the detective and the doctor stared at each other.

"Oh," Watson said softly. "What have you done Holmes?" He punctuated his statement with his lips forcefully meeting Holmes again, but this time it was not soft but passionate and stimulating. The force caused Holmes to stumble a couple steps back, but he responded to the kiss, pushing back as well.

Watson discarded his cane and used both hands to feel Holmes. First he traveled over the hair on the back of the detective's neck and then to the taut muscles of his back and sides. "So, what are your conclusions on aphrodisiacs?"

Holmes' fingers work at the doctor's belt, successfully unlatching it and moving to the buttons on Watson's shirt. "I think that they are completely and utterly a myth… a fabrication."

Watson pulled away. "What?"

"Come on, Watson," Holmes grinned. "The experiment was never about the aphrodisiacs. It was about how I was going to get you to finally admit what you feel for me… to get you to succumb to me."

Watson shook his head, but he smiled while doing so. "Always withholding valuable information from me."

"Well, I'd say this experiment is officially concluded. Data confirmed," Holmes stated.

Watson stood, pants unbuckled, shirt halfway undone, hair unkempt, staring at Holmes with what can only be described as pure lust, and leaned in to Holmes, only a centimeter from the detective's lips. "And what are you going to do with your subject?"

Holmes couldn't help but grin.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks so much for the reviews! Overall, the main critique I've gathered is that Holmes is a little OOC – which after reading again, I completely agree. I will try to keep him more in character; however, I feel that it might make this sex scene harder to write, so we'll see how it turns out. Hopefully, it will be just as good as I had originally planned. Please review! It totally makes my day :D

Also, the rating will be changed to M. And the category as well: from Romance/Humor to Romance/Angst.

* * *

Watson stood, pants unbuckled, shirt halfway undone, hair unkempt, staring at Holmes with what can only be described as pure lust, and leaned in to Holmes, only a centimeter from the detective's lips. "And what are you going to do with your subject?"

Holmes couldn't help but grin. "I believe I need to further assess my findings, paying particular attention to…" he slipped two fingers into the already unbuckled pants. "the more ambiguous signs."

And the backs of those fingers were slowly working their way along the firm muscle that led directly to what both men knew was the desired destination. The fingertips almost tickled their way to the warm, more sensitive skin beneath the doctor's constricting pants, and the man felt his shuddering exhale hitch in his throat. A reaction he was certain that Holmes had noticed, as well as the slight jerk as his entire body reacted sharply.

The doctor lifted his hand gradually, but then left it hanging motionless at his side as if he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do with it. "Holmes…" he whispered, his voice low and sounding slightly weakened.

The detective gave him a couple seconds, adding his thumb in to the mix and allowing it to wander across the flat, hard section of his friend's lower abdomen, taking a great deal of liberty in its exploration. Its tip brushed over firm muscle that pulled away slightly at his touch and felt the resistance of hairs as he bordered between friendship and something more.

A question that Sherlock was certain was now on his good friend's mind. Watson's demeanor had shifted from a state of eagerness and unanticipated lust, of which he was willing to comply since it was sudden and he was "in-the-moment," but it quickly shifted to the state of uncertainty as the gestures slowed and more thought-out emotion was presented. The air between them had changed, morphed into something that was much different than before. It was one thing to have frenzied, hurried sex that could be chalked up as a mistake and determinedly forgotten about, but it was another to have deliberate and conscious intercourse that would bring its own bundle of loaded questions that the doctor either had no desire or was unable to answer. This entire hypothesis was calculated and confirmed within a second's time in Sherlock's mind. His fingertips hesitated. "Watson?" he inquired, his voice light and attempting to possess none of the concern that riddled his thoughts.

Slowing down was certainly not a mistake on Holmes' part. Even if Watson did freak out and end this prematurely, leaving the detective tousled and most unused, Holmes would leave things be. If Watson felt more content with going throughout their lives pushing the façade of them being "bestest-best-friends" or his "loyal dog" then it wasn't Holmes' position to pressure the man into sexual situations, give a little push maybe, but not pressure. It was blatantly obvious how Holmes felt for Watson and Sherlock had deduced quite certainly that Watson was aware of his crush-like feelings. What Holmes was certain that Watson had _not_ deduced, however, was that his feelings for his friend ran much deeper than a childlike crush and was bordering on serious infatuation and long-term obsession. No matter how badly Holmes wanted to take his best friend and use every bit of his infinite knowledge to thoroughly and inarguably defend his point that they would be infinitely better lovers than they could ever be friends and considering how good of friends they were, that really said a lot, but nothing would be worse than losing Watson forever. Even with pure logic shoved in his face, the doctor could still decline, whether from social stigmas or simply not reciprocating (which Holmes doubted severely through many years of studying and reasoning). It also presented a situation in which he could be perceived as very vulnerable, which was situations Holmes had mastered avoiding, especially when it came to emotional vulnerability.

The most important aspect, however, was Watson, always Watson. Holmes would give anything to continue, to carry out the very explicit thoughts he conjured up in the middle of the night, but simply not at the cost of Watson's virtue. And if Watson thought he would regret or feel any sort of guilt over their illicit actions, than Holmes would not allow it and would prefer to suffer himself and have Watson leave.

The silence had stretched between them long enough and Watson appeared to be fighting between the instinct to flee and the confusion and possible consequences of staying. Again, a single word, "Holmes…" and a pause, as if he had something else to divulge, to ask, to confess, but never did.

The detective gave the man in front of him a desperate look, but only because he knew Watson was avoiding his gaze and would not see it. His voice however held no such hints of desperation, only a sense of denseness for the seriousness of the situation. "Yes, my dear Watson?"

That seemed to trigger something within his friend and to Holmes' displeasure, the doctor took a step away and Sherlock's fingers slid easily out of the doctor's pants without protest.

Finally Watson's eyes came up to meet Sherlock's and the detective stood motionless, giving off no hint of desire or disappointment. He just cocked his head to the side expectantly.

"I think this has gone far enough, Holmes," Watson said, trying to tuck his shirt back into his pants. "Your eccentric behavior has already caused enough damage." His eyes flicked around the room, presumably looking for his cane.

"Looking for this?" Holmes asked, retrieving the object of Watson's desire and holding the thin cane up.

"Yes." Again the young doctor was having difficulty looking anywhere near the vicinity that Holmes was occupying. "Thank you."

Why couldn't Watson see this? Why couldn't the man understand that Holmes could provide everything for him? Whenever the doctor looked for something, Sherlock knew him well enough to already know what it was and get it for him. Whenever the doctor needed to know some random piece of knowledge, Holmes could certainly supply that information to him. And, yes, whenever Watson needed that touch or yearned for that release, Holmes would happily do the honors. It almost made his stomach turn over on itself he wanted so badly to do the honors.

But instead of explaining all this, Holmes simply replied, "Always."

Again a somewhat awkward pause occurred, and Holmes debated simply jumping the doctor and seeing where it led, but logic and fear kept him from doing so.

"I'll be in my quarters," Watson replied, glancing at the table where this had all started. "Clean that up. You have enough mess in here. We don't need spoiled food sitting stagnant in here for weeks…" he continued to mumble as he left, swinging the door shut but not all the way.

"Of course," Holmes called after, just barely able to maintain his indifference until his friend had fully left the quarters. He immediately bowed his head, closing his eyes in a forced effort to contain a strained scream that threatened to surface. Instead he bunched his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms, shaking.

This is what Watson didn't know. This is what Holmes wasn't willing to let him see, at least, until he knew that his own feelings would not be slaughtered. There wasn't much that Holmes put before Watson in terms of importance, and these hidden feelings really held to contest either, but they did threaten what he already had with Watson and that was enough to shove them away forever if need be.

Trying not to shake too visibly, Holmes moved over to the table, where the food still layout. He placed his hands, palms down, onto the smooth surface, letting out an aggravated exhale. And then, in a rare fit of frustration, Holmes shoved half the plates off the table and onto the floor and the clutter that covered most of said floor.

"Why do you hide that from me?"

Holmes spun around, startled by the noise and startled by the unanticipated turn of events. Watson must have slid back into his room and was currently leaning contently against the wall near his door. His ankles crossed and cane in hand.

"What?" was all Holmes could think to say because a hesitation or pause would surely give him away.

"Oh, stop it, Holmes," Watson said, slight anger growing in his tone. "Stop acting so socially obtuse and start being… honest. Be honest with me." His tone finished low, steady.

The man was asking, and Holmes was certain he wasn't prepared for his answer. "Sit down."

Instead of sitting at the strewn table, Watson opted for the small couch that was closer to him.

"Do you really wish to venture into the truth, my dear friend?" Holmes asked, not afraid to make eye contact with his long time friend.

Watson's gaze shifted, indicating that he was in thought over his answer. Holmes, however, was studying his face, specifically his mouth. The soft, inviting lips that he's had to stare at for years and resist for just as long and the small hairs that covered the top one, shaping his mouth perfectly.

"I don't know," the doctor finally answered.

This was becoming ridiculous. It was as if both of them wanted to give in to the other and finally say, "I want you" but neither had the gall or nerve to admit it first. So Sherlock began compromising with himself. "Watson, you have to promise me something."

"What is it?"

"You would never leave me, would you? Just stop seeing me altogether?"

Watson gave a small smile. "That would be quite impossible, Holmes." His words held a definite affection, as if Watson would never _want_ Sherlock out of his life.

"Alright." Holmes shrugged, finally making up his mind for good. "My feelings for you over the past couple of years have increased significantly, bordering on the point of falling irrevocably in love with you, and I would give almost anything for you to simply reciprocate, but it absolutely pains me to think that you may regret the experience or push me completely away, because I would considerably prefer us to remain 'friends'," he held up quotation marks with his fingers. "then to lose you entirely. And I _know _that we could better our time together, especially at night, with activities that are equally more gratifying for the both of us. _Especially_ when I sometimes watch you while you're sleeping… that bed was made for two." Of course, he ended with a statement of pure logic.

With each word, he felt himself become more and more vulnerable, but if anyone was worth getting vulnerable for it was Watson. "Say something," Sherlock said after a long moment. "Just don't leave."

The request hit Watson right in the deep corners of his heart. "I'm not going to leave," he said softly. "But I'm not sure what to do either."

Holmes took this as his queue to advance on the sitting man. He sat, as well, close to Watson, but was uncharacteristically out of things to say.

"I see you're perspiring," Watson said, suddenly studying Holmes in a way that made him feel slightly taken advantage of, but in a really good way.

Sherlock's fingers touched his forehead, feeling sweat that he knew was already there.

"Your breathing has faintly increased and," Watson leaned over, causing Holmes to freeze. "Your pulse has quickened."

Their faces were no more than an inch apart and Holmes felt the doctor's hot breath just before his lips were covered with the soft touch of Watson's. Holmes couldn't help but release a shuddering exhale into Watson's mouth, feeling an intense need to _take_ the man that was so gently offering his lips and only his lips for the moment.

Watson shifted, and while still sitting on the couch, positioned himself in front of Holmes as best he could, continuing the kiss the entire time. Holmes responded by lifting his hands, and placing one on Watson's side and the other on the back of the doctor's head, inadvertently deepening the kiss in the process.

Luckily, Watson did not seem to mind. The doctor opened his mouth and allowed him and Holmes to steadily exchange their air, finally letting his tentative tongue inside the detective's mouth.

"Holmes?" Watson said once he had broken the kiss. There was a quick moment, a moment most men wouldn't catch but of course Holmes did, where numerous little things happened: both of them ever-so-slightly leaned back in wanting more, a subtle shaking in their hands, and a faint shift of their hips as they both yearned for friction and touch.

"Anything, Watson."

Watson fingertips languidly slid across Sherlock's face and he closed his eyes as he spoke. "Convince me."

"Are you—,"

"Holmes." Watson's voice was strong. He moved his mouth to Sherlock's ears. "Convince me."

Usually Holmes convinced people with his words, but in this case, he would use his fingers, his mouth, his body. "Lay back," Holmes requested, starting to kiss his friend again before Watson had even started on his request. In unison, they lay, Watson on his back and Holmes straddling him.

For the first time they felt each other. Holmes slowly shifted his open legs against the bulge in Watson's pants, and the doctor responded in such a way that made Holmes' feel a strong twitch between his own legs. Watson dug his fingers into Sherlock's thigh and gripped it for a moment, arching his back and closing his eyes.

As Holmes maneuvered himself against his best friend, he could feel the immense hardness of Watson. "Well…" Holmes smirked, bringing some of his infamous humor into the mix. "I can tell you've certainly wanted this."

"_Wanting_ _it_ was never the question for me," he breathed out. "Risking it was of more concern, but as always…" he paused, shaking his head slightly and letting out a small laugh. "I can't seem to say no to you."

"Thank God," Holmes said, acting as if anything other than that would be absolutely preposterous.

As with everything else Holmes did, he concentrated on details. Slowly he undid each button on the doctor's vest and then went directly to the buttons on his shirt. Opening them both revealed a bare chest, rising and falling quickly with Watson's breathing, and Sherlock couldn't resist running his fingers over every inch of skin he saw. He took in other details as well, including the many bruises and healing abrasions just on the little skin revealed to him already.

"Watson, you should really be more careful," he observed, letting his fingers glide gently over the injuries.

"All of them are _your_ doing. I would merely be a simple doctor if it weren't for you and your insane escapades."

"Really?" Holmes sounded intrigued. "I'll just have to make it up to you then."

They locked eyes, their looks wrought with lust, just before Holmes slid his body down the couch, so that his hands were on each of Watson's knees, spreading the man's legs. First Holmes took his teeth and undone the button on his friend's pants for the second time that night, this time more confident in the mission. He let his tongue travel along the man's lower abdomen for a while, starting around his bellybutton and steadily moving lower and lower until the pants prevented any more exploration. Holmes slipped all of his fingers into Watson's pants and gradually lowered them, hearing a low moan of approval from the doctor as his cock was finally released.

The first action the detective took was to run his tongue from the base of his friend's cock to the very tip, letting his tongue tempt the head, and in response the doctor jerked greatly and let out a somewhat loud yell. The doctor immediately, shoved his forearm over him mouth, biting viciously onto his sleeve in an attempt to prevent anymore loud noises from disturbing their lovely landlady.

Holmes chuckled. "Don't fight it, my dear friend."

"Shut up, Holmes," Watson said, gripping the edge of the couch as he anticipated the next sensation.

"With pleasure," Sherlock said, opening his mouth and taking most of Watson in.

In Watson's defense he was able to keep most of his noises classified as breathy moans and guttural groans, but there was the occasional shout and (Holmes' favorite) the sporadic yelling of his name.

Holmes could taste his friend. A taste he very much enjoyed. But the best part about servicing his friend's cock was the reactions and movements he could feel so well, so accurately. He felt every single twitch and jerk that ran through Watson's stomach and thighs. He felt the increased breathing as Watson got close. He felt Watson's toes curl into the cushion. He felt every single delicious wanton movement.

"Holmes, ah. Holmes!" Watson said. "Stop. I'm getting too close."

The detective lifted his head. "I believe that's the point, my friend."

"What about you?"

"I'm concerning myself with you."

_Of course_, Watson thought. "Well, I'm concerning myself with _you_." He used Sherlock's unkempt hair to pull him up to his face. He allowed his fingers to unbuckle the detective's pants while he spoke. "Use me, Sherlock. Use my body. Make me come when you come."

Even if he tried, Holmes could never hide the intense shudder of anticipation that ran through his body at Watson's words.

Kicking his pants the rest of the way off, Watson shifted his legs and body to make the invitation complete… and utterly irresistible.

"You've swayed me," Holmes admitted, although both knew it wasn't ever really a question. Holmes shifted his hand in order to finish the job Watson had started, but then a firm grip was on his wrist.

"Let me do it," Watson said, pushing Holmes's hand away.

Watson guided their lips together once again, while one of his hands worked at the button and zipper of his companion's pants. Once completed and the pants kicked completely off, Watson, without warning, allowed his hand to slip across Holmes' quivering skin and feel the warm, hardened shaft.

"Ah!" Holmes yelled, severing their kiss and burying his head above Watson's shoulder, allowing perfect positioning for Watson to lick, nibble and suck on Homes' neck. Watson's fingers formed an 'O' shape and moved slowly up and down the detective's pulsing shaft, feeling Holmes' hips slightly meeting his hand in an effort to cause more friction.

"Hmm," Holmes hummed his approval. A minute or so passed before Sherlock raised his torso. "You've got to stop— I need…" he trailed off, finishing his sentence with his actions. He braced his body, placing a hand on Watson's hips and the other on the back of the couch, before lubing himself up with the best of his abilities, and gently inserting himself into Watson. There was resistance, which was mind numbingly fantastic for him, but he assumed very painful for Watson.

"Just push in," Watson urged, grimacing from the pain but handling it well. "I'm fine."

Holmes was delicate and would remain so until he knew for certain Watson was feeling just as much pleasure as he. Gradually, Watson began to move against him, gripping the front of Sherlock's shirt and almost ripping it.

Holmes was never ever one for dirty talk during sex, and he knew the risk he was taking when he asked this, but he really needed to know. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes, Holmes, yes. It feels good," Watson could barely get out between his heavy breathing and moans.

As long as Holmes knew that Watson was being pleasured he allowed himself to succumb, give in to the pleasures that Watson's body was giving him. With each thrust, Holmes could feel the building of intense pleasure low in his abdomen, making his legs shake. He helped Watson by putting his hand on Watson's cock and pumping with his thrusts.

Just before Watson jerked violently and came onto his stomach and chest, the doctor whispered, "I love you, Holmes."

That was enough to initiate the detective's orgasm, and his body went rigid with waves of pleasure as he emptied himself into his lover. After a moment of heavy breathing, Holmes smirked. "I think that gives you an accurate idea of how I feel for you."

Watson shifted, glancing to his side when he heard some movement. Gladstone was staring at them from the floor. Holmes followed the doctor's gaze and they both stared back at Gladstone for a still moment.

"I think we've mortified my dog," Watson said.

"Our dog."

Watson smiled, nodding. "_Our_ dog."


End file.
